Kith and Kill Read Free

will you?” she pleaded. “I don’t want to cause trouble in the family.”
    “I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mrs Wilson,” Amos replied, “but I can’t avoid involving everyone who was at the wake. There is a very real possibility that Matthew was poisoned.”
    Mrs Wilson gasped. “You mean accidentally? Or on purpose?”
    “That,” Amos said, “is what we shall have to find out.”
     

 
     
    Chapter 3
     
    Jane Wilson’s son James appeared at this point.
    “I managed to get hold of Uncle Luke from the payphone,” he said in flat tones. “He’s promised to ring the rest of the family.”
    James slumped into a plastic chair next to his mother, who put her arm round his shoulders. The two sat in silence.
    “As you have your son with you, Mrs Wilson, we’ll leave you in peace,” Amos said. “We will have to talk to you again in the morning though, I’m afraid. Susan will liaise with you and you can contact her at any time.”
    Mrs Wilson nodded to show she understood. She and James just sat there in shock. Susan proudly offered them her business card. This was the first chance she had had to hand one out.
    “Mrs Wilson,” Amos said, “I suggest that you go home. There’s nothing more you can do here and I’m afraid there will have to be a post mortem. We’ll let you know of any developments.”
    Amos signalled to DC Smith to follow as he extracted himself from the unhappy mother and son. When they were back in the main foyer, he told his fellow officer: “This will be a long evening and it will be all hands on deck from tomorrow. If you want to go home you can do.”
    “Oh no, Sir,” Smith said a little too eagerly. “I want to come with you and learn. They say you’re the best.”
    “Do they also say I’m highly susceptible to flattery?” Amos asked drily, but with a half-smile. Smith blushed. Amos walked towards the exit to spare her embarrassment.
    They stopped at the payphone to let Mrs Amos and Smith’s parents know they would not be home for supper. Amos hated the new-fangled, heavy and cumbersome mobile phone he had been issued with and Smith was not senior enough to have one.
    Domestic obligations completed, Amos said as they made for their car: “Before we talk to the other family members, I’d like to visit the pub where they held the wake. We can catch them before they open for the evening so we’ll have the place to ourselves.
    “It’s also about the furthest point south of the addresses we need to visit so we can work our way back.”
    Amos cut through to the A15 to avoid the delays caused by the level crossing on the southern half of the High Street and the two detectives had no difficulty in finding the pub where Matthew Wilson had presumably consumed a quantity of poison. They parked in the car park at the rear but Amos wanted to walk round the front to see who the landlord was. A glance above the door elucidated that Andrew Wingate was licensed to sell alcoholic liquor on or off the premises.
    The landlord was in fact just closing the front door as they arrived. A couple of late drinkers were driving out of the car park, having narrowly missed the police officers, so Wingate was slightly alarmed when Amos introduced himself and Smith. The Chief Constable’s last hobby horse, after hours drinking, had long since run its course but pubs were still wary of being targeted.
    Relief at Amos’s assurance that he and his constable had called on an entirely unrelated matter soon dissipated at the possibility that a customer had been poisoned on his premises.
    “Did the Wilsons have a separate room or were they with the general public?” Amos asked.
    “They had the function room at the back,” the landlord replied. “I’ll show you.”
    He led them through to a fairly large room that had been added onto the original building. The door was closed though it was not locked. There were no staff in the room but it looked as if it had been cleaned since the